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Tackling the mountain, 200 steps at a time

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We love our small mountain ‘Mount Chinny’. My son and I can see her from our verandah, keeping guard over our cute country town near Byron Bay, and she figures in many local photos:

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She’s the peak on the right

Supposedly, she’s the cap of the volcano ‘Mount Warning’, which blew her off millennia ago; you can see that parent mountain in the far distance:

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An extinct volcano, I’m happy to say

The base of Mt Chinny is on private land though, so access for the general public is restricted.

But this Saturday, all that is going to change: 500 lucky entrants are going to compete in ‘The Chinny Charge’, which was last run 16 years ago, and won by a sugar cane cutter in his bare feet!

I bought son ’17’ his entry ticket in the race, then realized I could just walk up it like other sane old people, and bought myself one too.

I’ve launched into a heavy training regime. Not. I drive to the steepest hill around here, which leads to a disused water tower, and walk up it, listening to loud Australian hip hop.

I’ve been doing it for nearly a week. I walked up and down 3 times, then 5, then 7, then 8. Today I did 8 again. I’m gonna do 2 x 10, rest on Friday, and then Saturday is the Charge to the top.

 

It gets very steep towards the top (of the water tower road, not the mountain. Obviously that is steep). The last 20 steps are the hardest (I counted: it’s 200 FYI). My incredibly fit friend says the urge to stop is all in your mind… I dunno about that, it sure feels like it’s a burnin’ and a weakenin’ in my thighs…

But anyway, the views at sunset are great (from the water tower road, not the mountain):

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SunsetPink

It’s wild to think that on Saturday I’ll be up there, taking photos looking down… Stay tuned to see if I make it (I have no doubt that ’17’ will, even though he’s done zero training *sigh * sometimes I hate young people, and their boundless energy).

PanoSunset

 

Mother and daughter out for a walk

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A hand strokes her back as they walk down the hill on this warm morning, heading away from me. Giving reassurance, or seeking it? The road is steep, and the frailer figure is definitely an old woman. Her back is stroked again, and I assume that’s her daughter, with the cherry red sunhat and white runners. Similar body shapes, similar height.

I’m walking into a mall in England with Mum, July 2017, and we realize the shop she wants is up on the second floor. I know her anxiety and claustrophobia won’t let her get in a lift, and she hates escalators too.

“Shall we walk up the stairs Mum? It’s not far. I can hold your arm, or you can hold the railing?”

“Ooh, I don’t know, I hate heights. Will you help me?”

“Yes of course. Just don’t look down. Let’s talk about something to keep your mind off the height, and definitely don’t look down OK?”

 The red hat leans in to whisper something, and the older woman laughs; I hear it tinkle up the hill on the spring breeze. The space between their bodies shrinks, then they move apart again, and link arms.

I put my arm through Mum’s, feeling the softness of her puffer jacket, and the thin bone beneath. At 51, I’ve never done this before. We’d never been that physically close, and I’ve lived in Australia by myself for over 30 years.

All around us in the mall, people move fast; the tinny music drapes itself on top of bland conversations, and the squeal of a cranky child creases the air.

“That’s it Mum, one foot in front of the other, and tell me how terrible you think the Conservative government is , especially your Prime Minister…”

The tarmac curves them away round the corner; they’re moving slow but steady, and I wonder if they do this everyday? Or perhaps it’s a weekly visit? The road leads past the old people’s home, where I can see multiple tiny balconies with a single chair and pot plant.

“We made it! Well done. Soon we’ll have to go down again of course.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t fuss. It’s noisy in here isn’t it? I’ve never liked shopping.”

We walk back through the lower level to catch the train home, and I keep our arms linked. We move slowly, letting people get out of our way as we fill the narrow pavement. The weak UK sun warms my face, and I breathe in the gift of this simple day, holding Mum safe.

I rub her back for a moment. Giving reassurance, or seeking it? I don’t know.

It will be another year till I’m here again; stay safe Mum.

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July 2017: first selfie at 81!

 

(I wrote a longer post last year about Mum in ‘Down the long lane’ HERE)

The ‘rainbow bar’ comes from an Australian engineer; here’s a screenshot

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In this crazy time of hurricanes, floods, and earthquakes, I just want to celebrate a little human caring. This is for all you fabulous Americans/Canadians/UKs/Kiwis etc etc who (after my previous post HERE) commented “I wish I had one of those!”:

Screen Shot 2017-09-08 at 9.42.17 pm

I’d sent that post in to ‘Discover’ on WordPress, not to get ‘Discovered’, but just to try and let WordPress know how impressed I was. I fast got this email back from the Editorial Team:

“Hello GG,

Thanks so much for sharing your kind words about the rainbow bar with us. One of our Australian engineers conceived this idea and put it together to be able to show WordPress.com and Automattic’s support for marriage equality.

I posted your note and I know he’ll appreciate your support. As a Canadian, (where we’ve had marriage equality since 2005) I wholeheartedly hope Australia votes YES. Let love win!

All the best…”

And I’ve only had 2 negative comments, which I trashed, and removed as Followers of my blog.

Love and let Love indeed ❤

 

When a rainbow appeared in my blue WordPress sky…

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It was a few days ago; did you get one? I suddenly registered that there was a rainbow band across the top of my blog, on every page, incl the Stats and Reader. It’s not on my actual blog site, but firmly everywhere else.

I couldn’t see it on other blogs though, so last night I Googled it: ‘Why rainbow on WordPress blog?’

Google offered me 2 other people who’d asked the same question of WordPress, both of whom were cranky, saying ‘get this rainbow off my site!’

Here’s the WordPress reply:

Australia will be holding a national survey on marriage equality over the next two months. To show our support for marriage equality, we’re showing the rainbow bar to all our Australian visitors. You can read more about the marriage equality campaign here: http://www.equalitycampaign.org.au/

We cannot remove this banner for individual sites. We understand it looks a bit different to what you’re used to, but it’s here for everyone. We absolutely respect your right to publish the content you choose to your site, but the navigation bar styling reflects WordPress.com’s stance as a company.

The rainbow bar will remain until after the survey results are released, on November 15.

If this causes you to choose to leave WordPress.com, we’re sorry to see you go. You can find documentation on how to move your site here: https://move.wordpress.com/

We can also assist your move with our Guided Transfer service: https://en.support.wordpress.com/guided-transfer/

WORDPRESS, I FUCKEN LOVE YOU FOR THIS! 

And here’s the poster my love ‘H’ designed… feel free to contact me [Australians only] and I can email it for you to print and put up. Love is Love xxoo

Print

 

Blog tales for the Over 50s with positive ageing, dating & relationships

Driving & talking with teenage son till I laugh/cry/laugh

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So many times as a skinny teenager I used to ask ‘What’s for dinner Mum?’ She’d usually sigh, and dismiss me with ‘Oh I don’t know, I hate cooking.’

I made myself a lot of frozen pizza with instant mash potato.

Smash

Remember this?

I learnt to love cooking though, especially after becoming a vegetarian in my early, idealistic twenties. When I had my son in my early thirties, I created different memories around food and eating with him; when he was 7 for example, I bought him his own small chopping knife to help me cook with, and ten years later, we still use it. We both enjoy good food a lot (he’s actually making dinner while I write this).

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$5 from Chinatown- money well spent

His Dad’s a good cook too. We separated when ’17’ was only a toddler, and at first our son spent 2 days with each of us. It slowly stretched to 3 days, then 4; I think he was about 5 when it grew to Week On/Week Off.

The day of ‘changeover’ became a mix of sadness and joy, for all of us. Sometimes it was fraught, other times simple. Sometimes I dreaded the farewells, and other times I couldn’t bloody wait. Not much has changed. After a long time of living more with his Dad and new step-mum plus two cute brothers, we have now evolved to Fortnight On/Fortnight Off.

Linked to that, one of our big treats together has long been pancakes on a weekend. Not every weekend, but often enough to feel like our small family ritual. Especially whenever he has friends for a sleepover, I make pancakes (albeit ‘healthy’ ones, with a mixture of buckwheat & spelt flours, plus minimal sugar, and organic free range eggs). I treasure the memory of my Dad making pancakes; he cooked them so fast my brother and I could barely keep up, and he didn’t pause to have one himself at all.

pancake evidence 2008

Pancake evidence from caravan holiday 2008 (*just ordered by son to crop him out completely, even though he had the happiest smile)

So I do that with my son, watching happily as he and his friends stuff their grinning faces, smiling to myself at the sweet toppings they combine, while I wait to have the last one, always savoury. Mmmmm, avocado with salt & pepper, lemon juice and fetta cheese, perhaps tomatoes from the garden too.

What about the first one though? For some reason, it’s often a bit dodgy! We call it ‘the dog pancake’, although we only have a cat, and sometimes it even goes straight in the bin. Do you do that? What do you call it?

This afternoon, I picked ’17’ up after school, ready for our fortnight together, and we drove to get some of his belongings from his Dad’s. I was tired, with a headache from flying back after performing work in Cairns, lugging stilts and costumes around. He was tired from a day at school, plus not enough lunch. As he drove us home, the timeless scenario played out:

 

Him: ‘What’s for dinner Mum?’

Me: ‘Oh I dunno, I’m not in a very good cooking mood; maybe a quick pasta sauce?’

Him & Me: Generalized grumbling/soft protests/sighs/complaints/rebuffs/sighs/Silence…

LONG, LONG PAUSE

Him: ‘You know, I think the day we reunite is sometimes just the dog pancake.’

 

Long distance relationships Part 2: ‘Am I in a catapult?’

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The thread between us HERE Part 1 regularly stretches 1600kms. Then it reached 17,000kms while I went to France and the UK. It spiralled in and relaxed on itself while we curled together in my home & wooden bed; now our 5-day date is over, and the 1600kms are back. Plus an extra 1000 as I’ve been flown up to tropical Cairns to walk on stilts for a weekend festival.

Actual sign from my morning walk

I’m feeling a bit wobbly from all the movement, all the to-ing and fro-ing. From all the fantasizing about the next long date to come (late Sept), and various future possibilities we’re both curious about (“One of my best friends lives a couple of hours drive away from you- perhaps I could spend 6 months staying there/Maybe we could both move to the same city next year, or the year after…”)?

Being in love is delicious, intoxicating, and addictive! Hearts swell like the cherry tomatoes in my garden; minds expand; souls dance. Energies entwine like pumpkin vines, sprouting determinedly wherever they can, winding themselves tightly.

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How can we not be changed by Love? Aren’t we seeking self-knowledge, exchange and growth?

Isn’t that the whole point??

What do you think? 

Yet where am I in all this? Am I losing my old familiar centre?

Yes. Which mostly is a really good thing. But sometimes it feels too fast, too big, or just a bit scary. A little piece of me wants to sit still, holding her teddy bear, and let all the threads and vines drop to rest for a moment.

I need to spend some time with that small Me, catapult-free, and report back…

 

How’s our 5-day date going? Here’s H’s self portrait (with me as Hedgehog)

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If a picture paints a thousand words, I’m saving you from reading a long blog post :~)

'H'

Living with teenage son No. 250

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Him: ‘Mum look, I’ve created a Study Nook! I’m so going to get on top of my assignments.’

Me [Looking at my now un-useable spare room, complete with blocked access to my linen cupboard, and removal of my only bedside lamp plus the living room coffee table]: ‘That’s great Honey…’

ONE WEEK LATER

Me [Having taken back my bedside light, and moved the coffee table so I can get sheets & towels out]: ‘How’s the study going?’

Him: ‘Well I can’t work now that my habitat’s been destroyed.’

 

1 more sleep till we leap

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I’m so excited I can barely work, nor compose blog posts. But a dear reader just sent me a link to Elephant Journal, and this extract says it way better than I can right now:

“We’ve all heard the quote, “Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them.” True love for me is the opposite of this saying. We know that we love someone when we can live with them and we can live without them. There’s something about love that overcomes distance and space…”

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Sunset tonight. And that’s an eagle in the centre of the sky

“When we love, we feel an astounding sense of safety. We allow this person to challenge us, to help us give birth to the best version of ourselves. And this evokes a happiness that we can’t easily measure… 

Love is a series of leaps of faith. We jump, knowing that not doing so will leave us with pain and regret. And with every leap, we trust that we will not fall.”

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Safe travels H, and see you at the airport xxx

 

Texting with online love ‘H’ #1

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Me: Whatcha doin’?

H: Baking a lime cake

Me [having sent approx 25 various unrequited selfies of me & cat/me & food/me & sunsets]: Oooh, send me a pic!

 

H:

bone&silverDrawing